Mother
by Kitala
Summary: Based on an image. D spends some quality time with his mother. I do not own D or Left Hand.


He could travel the whole world and throughout the ages nothing changed; ever. The people, the towns, their ideals… nothing ever differed.

The hunter had always wondered to himself what it would be like to be fully on one side or another. To be fully human; or fully vampire. He was, by his very nature and for all time, at a crossroads and he was unable to join either side fully so he had to be content to walk in the middle.

"You're in a contemplative mood," a tinny voiced chuckled from the vicinity of his left hand; if the hunter was surprised he didn't show it, his stoic front completely unchanged.

A tingling sensation traveled up the hunter's arm as the entity laughed, wrinkled face scrunched up grotesquely as he fed off the dhampire's thoughts, "about that then, is it?" it wheezed. The hunter's lips turned down in an ever so slight frown as sinews and muscle smoothly shifted, his left hand clasping his steeds rein tighter to choke off the entities next comments.

Parched dirt swirled around his steeds' hooves every time they touched the ground, resulting in the swirling particles dusting them thinly but the air was heavy with the thick musk that signalled rain to come. The scent was brought into strong relief as a breeze hit; swaying tree branches, dirt and dead leaves in D's direction. The wind had taken a decidedly strong bite and the youth almost imperceptibly hunched his shoulders, marginally bringing his cloak up further as a shield.

His legs squeezed the sides of his mount and the horse automatically burst into a gallop, moving with precise, staccato movements and dizzying speed.

D slowed his horse sometime later and his stormy eyes narrowed, picking out landmarks against the grey skyline as the path turned to a steep incline. As he inched his horse forward the wind picked up, howling through the trees like some portent of darkness to come while the trees themselves seemed to close over the path like restraining arms warning the lone hunter not to go forward.

High above, at the top of the incline were jagged shapes, barely discernable as chunks of rock, remnants of an empire long since fallen. A crack was heard, similar to a tree root breaking and D looked down impassively, already knowing what his eyes proved- the now broken skeleton of a long deceased human lying stark white against the shadowy brown of the ground, only lightly obscured by the pearlescent mist beginning to swirl inward.

D urged his horse gently along the path as the mist became more defined and the pathway was partially obscured, leading it away from brambles and branches effortlessly, clearly having a perfect understanding of where his destination was and how to get there, even as the path before him disappeared behind mist and trees.

He stopped abruptly, lifting his leg up over the saddle and lowering himself to the ground. One thin fingered hand grabbed the reins, silently coaxing his horse towards a tree and tying the straps of leather around the branch.

Slowly the figure turned, seeming to look past the debris and trees and slowly began to move forward, easily pushing branches out of his way without breaking a perfectly fluid stride until, rather abruptly, he stopped. He turned his head slightly to the side, water sliding off the wide brimmed hat to pool at the corners before smoothly dripping over the sides, the easy flow barely interrupted when he took another two steps and bent into a crouch. Deftly he smoothed a pile of vines away, the hard green giving way to a soft grey underneath; stone carved in the shape of a cross.

His cape gently smoothed the dirt as he once again stood, clouds of swirling grey offering tears from the sky in a fine drizzle and the dense mist offered a silvery curtain of privacy from prying eyes that weren't present.

The trees whistled and swayed but the hunter stood completely still, eyes fixed on the two foot cross; his face inscrutable. He stood completely still for several long, silent minutes before imperceptibly nodding and lowering his head so his hat obscured his eyes. Slowly, almost tenderly, he pulled a feminine jewel, intricate facets catching what little sun there was and turning it into splashes of rainbow colour overlaid by the intense crimson of the jewel itself as it swayed on its fish line thin gold chain. He knelt fluidly, hanging the necklace on the top of the cross and caressing the stone smoothly before rising once again, taking one last look at the grave and murmuring only three words, "sleep well, Mother," before turning back the way he'd come and leaving the one place where he almost felt he could belong.


End file.
